The Heat
by Nightshift Daybreak
Summary: It started with a pulse. Beginning deep in his chest and radiating out through his extremities. It ran through his groin like electric fire. To his heart, through his veins, and into his very blood. A GohanxPiccolo oneshot.


**Sooooo...I'm back apparently. I dunno. This is a oneshot. Sometimes the inspiration/need just strikes you and you spend like 3 hours writing a story about a teenager and an alien when you should be cooking and packing for school.**

**A few side notes: Gohan is maybe like 17-18 in this story and Piccolo is 4 years older than him. No matter what he looks like, this is DBZ canon. Look it up before you start crying shouta. Enjoy.**

**~NsDb**

* * *

**The Heat** (not the awesome movie with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. God, I wish)

The first time it had happened, Gohan was alone in his room; thankfully. On the night of what should have been a full moon. If there were still a moon.

It started with a pulse. Beginning deep in his chest and radiating out through his extremities. It ran through his groin like electric fire. To his heart, through his veins, and into his very blood. His pulse raced and sweat beaded on his forehead. His bedroom had suddenly turned into an oven. His clothing felt too heavy, wet and clingy with sweat. Gohan clawed at them, all but ripping off his shirt and pants in his desperation, leaving him sitting in just his boxers. Despite the lack of clothing it felt even hotter in the room.

He sat back on his bed, legs splayed, and groaned. It was so hot. Sweat dripped off his forehead as he looked down, somehow unsurprised, at the obvious tent in his underwear. Carefully, he peeled it back to expose himself to the open air and let out a silent gasp at the brush of cool air.

Tentatively, he wrapped a hand around it and squeezed lightly biting back a moan. Gohan began to stroke himself. Slowly at first and then faster, uncontrollably almost. A furious rush to the finish line. The climax ripped through him, all white noise and flashes of color, and took all thought with it. Blood dribbled slowly down his chin as his teeth sunk into the tender flesh of his lip, riding out the waves of pleasure in forcible silence, determined not to make any noise that might give him away to his parents.

He panted staring up at the ceiling in the afterglow for a few minutes until he finally mustered the will to clean up the mess and get in the shower.

The second time it happened was almost a full week later. He'd been sitting in math class and dutifully following along with the lesson, despite having already mastered it as a child from his overbearing mother. His eyes widened as he felt the same pulse rock through him again. He felt his blood rush to his groin and thanked Kami for the individual desks that hid his erection from view.

The urge to take care of it right then and there was second only to his overwhelming embarrassment at being in the situation in the first place. All he could do was sit with his eyes glued to his desk, heart racing, face flushed, and wait for the feeling to pass.

Except that it wasn't. His body was ignoring his minds frantic chanting of Not here, not here, not h-.

"..on. Mr. Son!" Gohan's head snapped back.

His teacher gasped in surprise and adjusted his glasses to get a better look at his student. "You're positively red. You must be sick. Have someone escort you to the nurse's office." Indeed, Gohan's face was covered in a dark blush that traveled down his neck and no doubt covered the rest of his body.

"It's alright; I can make it there myself." he answered through chapped lips. The teacher peered at him over his glasses with concerned scrutiny. Judging his appearance and if he could indeed make it to the infirmary himself, yet unwilling to drag out the interaction any longer.

"If you're sure then," he said skeptically. Giving him one last long look he returned to the board to continue his lesson. It was a clear dismissal and Gohan was glad for it. He slid from his desk with all the grace his condition allowed and used his schoolbag to cover his arousal as he left the classroom.

From there he'd sought the nearest unoccupied bathroom.

The episodes were getting closer and closer together and by now Gohan was certain it was not part of being a normal healthy teenage boy as his mother had insisted during her clumsy attempt at "the talk" all those years ago.

It must have somehow had to do with being a Saiyan or half of one at least. The closet Saiyan he could go to for help was his Dad. He blushed scarlet at the thought. That was never going to happen, but the only other full-blooded adult Saiyan left was...

No! Never. No way on Earth or any other planet was he going to ask Vegeta of all people for help with this.

The snobbish prince of all Saiyans was already aloof and unapproachable for even the smallest conversation about the weather. Imagine what he'd say to the half-blood son of his sworn rival asking him for advice with this.

* * *

Well, Gohan thought as he watched the pointy haired prince doubled up on the floor, apparently he'd just laugh. And laugh. And then fall on the ground and laugh some more. A flush born of embarrassment and indignant anger colored his face.

"Mr. Vegeta, please!" the words burst forth of their own volition. "I'm scared of...whatever this is, and I need your help, so would you just STOP laughing and help me!"

"Fine, fine," Vegeta rose from the floor as the last peals of laughter died out. "I couldn't resist. Kakarot's son, prostrating himself and asking for my help, and about that no less. The thought itself is absolutely hilarious."

"Whatever you say. Just, please tell me what's wrong with me." He glanced up at the Saiyan prince, afraid to see his reaction. "I-I just can't take it anymore."

Surprisingly, Vegeta looked fairly serious, all traces of mirth were wiped from his face and his eyes almost seemed soft.

"Kid," His eyes trailed off to the side, almost like he was embarrassed. Good. Gohan thought. He shouldn't have to be the only one.

"You need to do it with someone." he paused and then as an afterthought "Have sex."

Gohan nodded but remained silent and waited for Vegeta to dispense his wisdom.

"It happens to every Saiyan at some point, or at least it used to. It's simple biology. A powerful compulsion that will only get worse the longer it's left to fester. You need to mate with someone you like, only then will it stop."

Gohan started at that. "Someone I like? What if I don't like anyone?"

Vegeta shook his head.

"You must," he replied, matter-of-fact, "It wouldn't happen if you didn't. Once you reach reproductive age, if you want someone, your body makes it so that you must act on it. That ensures the survival of our race."

"And what happens if I don't act on it?"

The prince actually looked genuinely confused. "I'm not sure. Most act on it. But I imagine it can't be good. I suggest you just suck it up and get it over with."

With that he flew off without another word and Gohan was too stunned by what he had just learned to do anything but let him. He stood on top of the rocky plateau until dark and he too flew away.

* * *

The next few days passed without incident and he found himself moving through cycles of school, homework, and the heat, as he had come to call his problem since Vegeta had neglected to put a name to it. The heat, it seemed, had reached stagnation and had gotten no worse nor any more frequent, though it continued to plague him at least once a day.

Gohan rejoiced silently. Maybe this marked the end of his condition. He'd reflected on Vegeta's words often and for the life of him could not think of anyone he had a crush on currently. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he stared at the high school girls in the hallways with their wavy hair and colored nails, carefully chosen clothes and painted faces, and could not muster any non-neutral feeling for any of them.

There wasn't anything for it then. Despite Vegeta's advice he just didn't like anyone that way, could hardly imagine it. Maybe it was a human thing er, half-human thing and he left the matter at that, defeated.

The weekend came uneventfully and he found him flying leisurely towards the waterfall he and Piccolo called theirs. They would try to meet at least twice a month to train, though there were no current threats to the earth's safety, and generally spend time together.

Gohan would yammer on as endlessly as he did as a child, speaking about school and his parents and various other goings-ons to fill the void of silence. Piccolo-san would hover in the air legs crossed and eyes closed and meditate. Gohan knew better than to think for one second that he wasn't listening to every word.

He'd almost forsaken the outing altogether. The nature of his current predicament left him reluctant to even get out of bed. But in the end, he'd decided to go. School and homework made it so that he saw much less of Piccolo than he had as a small child and he cherished what time they could spend together.

In the distance, he could already see Piccolo meditating next to the waterfall. Gohan grinned as he landed and mimicked him. Legs crossed, eyes closed, side by side with Piccolo-san, and exhale, long and slow. His smile widened as Piccolo grunted in acknowledgment next to him. They needed no introductions.

All of the sudden the world pulsed. Startled, Gohan just managed to save himself from falling out of the air. He held his breath as the pulsing continued and quickened, his body flooded with fever. Faster and faster it meshed with his heartbeat and Gohan felt tendrils of panic claw its way up his throat. It was so strong this time. Much stronger than anything else. And what was that smell?

So good. Rainfall and mud and grass, and fresh air and-

What _was_ that?

So very good. He glanced down at his crotch tentatively and was both relieved and confused to find that the lower half of his body seemed to be unresponsive.

_Gohan._ The word resounded in his mind and he followed it back to the source.

His head snapped to the left. Piccolo had not moved save for one open eye fixed on him and an arched eyebrow.

_Are you alright? Your ki is spiking._

He didn't respond. Couldn't. He'd forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to think. The world had narrowed down to fire, Gohan, Piccolo, and that smell.

Nostrils flared, he breathed in deeply. It was so much stronger. He opened his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them and saw Piccolo there. The Namekian hovered in front of him holding a hand to his forehead, checking for a fever, no doubt.

He was saying something. His mouth was moving. So he must be saying something, though Gohan could hardly care what it was. He just watched those thin, green lips move, sharp teeth flashing as he became more anxious with every call of his name and query about his health Gohan left unanswered.

The scent just got stronger. The scent of want, the very epitome of desire. Piccolo's smell.

_I want him._

And no sooner than the thought materialized in his mind did his body surge forward into action. Lips catching onto Piccolo's so fiercely that they were forced back and almost completely to the ground.

His hands scrabbled for purchase and twisted into the fabric of his friend's gi ripping through the fabric. His lips crashed harder against the other's letting up for gasping intakes of air before returning with more force.

_More._ Of everything. This perfect slotting of lips against his. His hands sliding over planes of green skin and pink muscle. A warm body against him. And the pleasurable heat buzzing at the back of his mind. He moved in even closer, his hips snapped forward to meet their equal, his eyes rolling at the brush of fabric that met him and the hardness behind it.

Pain lit up his vision. And the haze that clouded his vision fell away as his body connected with solid ground. He put a hand to his sore cheek that was quickly turning purple and looked up clearly for the first time.

Piccolo stood there with his shirt ripped, his weighted turban was absent, knocked off and away somewhere. His cheeks flushed a purple almost as dark as Gohan's developing bruise. He was panting hard, fists clenched at his side. The look on his face was devastating to Gohan. A mixture of confusion and accusation and worry, on the whole a silent, terrified question. Gohan couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his mentor so expressive.

He staggered to his feet. Looking down at the ground and determined not to look at Piccolo. What had he done? He had attacked Piccolo. How could he do such a thing? His mouth opened and closed, like a fish, trying to offer up some explanation. But there was nothing to say, no stream of words that would magically make this better. That would make this better.

He was a monster. The Saiyan flew away faster than he ever had in his life. He holed up in his room for hours, waving away his mother's offers of food or company. He didn't deserve any of that. Instead he slept and when the heat struck him, stroked himself at the thought of Piccolo's dazzling lips and then let guilt flood him and follow him down to sleep.

* * *

All he thought of was Piccolo now. His face or his body and when he let himself, the horrified expression he had worn. The bruise on his cheek was a light purple in contrast to his skin. It stung when he touched it and served him as a reminder of his crime.

The weekend passed this way and he skipped school the next two days as well. He had fully expected his mother to barge into his room and demand he attend class, but for whatever reason she had been mostly absent. Maybe she preoccupied elsewhere or maybe she had sensed the change in his mood and decided to steer clear. It was just as well, he couldn't face the world this way. As the person who had attacked his best and only true friend.

It was later that day when he heard a soft knock at his door and voices. He didn't bother to answer but at the sound of the doorknob turning readied himself for his mother's lecture. The door opened and he didn't bother to look up. His bed dipped as someone sat at the end of it.

"Kid." Gohan shot upright at the sound of smooth baritone.

Piccolo! What was he doing here. Panic shot through his heart even as it fluttered at the thought of Piccolo in his room. Sitting on his bed.

"I-I…I…you…" he couldn't get the words out, his mouth snapped shut.

Piccolo gave him a pointed look. Not quite a stare. "Your mother let me in."

The silence between them might swallow the room whole.

"I deserve an explanation, Gohan."

He knew that. At the very least he deserved an explanation. And damn it he was going to get one! It was time to stop being a blubbering child and own up to what he'd done. Piccolo shouldn't have had to seek him out. So he spat out the whole sordid tale.

He stuttered through most of it, breath hitching, talking almost too fast and leaving out some details. But in the end he'd done it and was even a little proud of himself for getting through it without bursting into tears. Piccolo had worn a neutral expression through the whole story and held eye contact with the teen.

"I wanted you and I couldn't control myself, but that's no excuse. I'm so sorry. I hope we can still be friends, Piccolo-san, but I can understand if that's asking too much." He let his head hang now, waiting for his mentor pass judgment. To condemn him forever.

Piccolo studied his student and long-time friend for a few moments. Then reached out with a clawed hand and closed the distance between them, kissing him briefly on the lips and then pulling away.

Gohan felt like he had been struck by lightning. Piccolo-san had kissed him. Piccolo-san had kissed him. And that smell was back. That delicious smell, stronger than ever. Confusion washed over him, and he held his breath; he dare not hope.

"Piccolo-san?" he had to know.

"Kid," Piccolo looked straight into his eyes, deep into his very soul. Past all his flaws and faults and deeper still. How could he not have known? How long had he gazed at Piccolo and thought of him as more than a friend this intensely and yet still managed to conceal it from even himself.

"I will always be here for you, if you need me." It wasn't a confession, not even close but somehow good enough, it was permission. Gohan was sure they were going to mess this up somewhere along the way. He was a half-human teenager and Piccolo was a 6ft tall alien that was four years older. But he didn't care.

This time when the heat began to pulse through him, he welcomed it whole-heartedly and let it flow through him. Crashing into Piccolo, he kissed him deeply.

* * *

**Hope that was to your liking. Everyone have a good life. Until next time.**

**~NsDb**


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